


Let The Seabirds Cry

by CaptainMinette



Series: The Driftwood & The Rift (Fae Jaskier + Alternate First Meeting AU + Polyamory) [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Cuddling, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Facial Trauma, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Graphic Description of Injuries, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jaskier Gets Facial Scars, Jaskier | Dandelion Has PTSD, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Parents Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier | Dandelion, Sharing a Bed, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Trans Jaskier | Dandelion, fluff and feelings, polyamorous character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainMinette/pseuds/CaptainMinette
Summary: On their way home from a summer side-trip, Geralt and Jaskier are called on to help the local baron's husband. As it turns out, that's just the beginning of their wildest adventure yet - the man is Jaskier's university sweetheart Hugh, the crown prince of a rare manatee sub-type of selkie (or seal-people), kept on land by the baron as a trophy husband.(Inspired by a mishearing of "humanity" as "Hugh Manatee" inToss A Coin To Your Witcher.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s), Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Male Character(s)
Series: The Driftwood & The Rift (Fae Jaskier + Alternate First Meeting AU + Polyamory) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824823
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26
Collections: Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang





	1. All That Matters (Is That You're Here)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Jaskier and the Wolf schoolers are _all_ trans-masculine enbies or binary trans men in this and the series I'm working on around it. There _is_ a scene of oral sex in this chapter in which the words "cunt" and "cock" (the latter in the sense of pre-existing anatomy enhanced by magical T) are used to refer to Jaskier's anatomy. 
> 
> Be aware of this language - if you still want to read the story in general, but think the smut may be off-putting, dysphoric or otherwise uncomfortable for you, I would recommend skipping right from Geralt bandaging Jaskier's hand to them settling into a conversation over some wine.

**“A friend of humanity!”**

Geralt hummed and set down his drink as Jaskier returned to their little table, flushed and breathless from exhilaration.

“Jaskier?” 

“Yes, Geralt? O, friend of humanity?”

“That line… I heard a few people muttering about it. They think you’re saying ‘Hugh Manatee’.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and went a deep shade of red:

“Well… I, um… well, first of all, Geralt, it’s _terribly_ rude of you to point that out so loudly, and second of all, I _wasn’t_.”

Geralt snorted, and it wasn't quite a laugh, but it was closer than Jaskier had heard him make in a long time. Jaskier could barely restrain the grin that threatened to break his mock-furious facade. He was embarrassed, but couldn’t find it in himself to actually be angry - he’d been applauded and earned them a bit of coin, misheard phrases or not. He could see the fondness in Geralt’s answering gaze.

“Come on, Jaskier. We’ll be heading out in the morning - it’s a good idea to get some rest while we have a room tonight.”

They had scarcely even stood up from their table when a cloaked figure blocked their path:

“You, sir. You’re Geralt of Rivia, right? The witcher?”

Geralt grunted:

“Who’s asking?”

The figure removed their hood:

“Gerda Ynnen. Former maid-servant in the mansion of Lord Bastian Gyvel.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide:

“The elder brother of Sir Roelof Gyvel of Novigrad?”

Gerda nodded:

“Yes! So you know His Lordship, then?”

“I know Bastian. I can’t say I’m fond of him. He is my sister Katrien’s brother-in-law, but I have never once felt comfortable in his presence.”

Geralt moved to step around Gerda, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm:

“Please, sir. I need your help.”

“I don’t meddle in politics.”

“This isn’t about politics!”

Gerda stopped, suddenly aware that she’d just raised her voice, flinched, and repeated much softer:

“This isn’t about politics.”

Geralt looked her up and down once, but didn’t move from where he stood:

“I doubt you can afford the fee to hire me, and I won’t work for free.”

“Please, sir. It’s His Lordship’s husband, Master Hugh, sir. He’s in grave danger.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt saw Jaskier’s posture stiffen slightly at the name, and there was a ragged intake of breath. He glanced over:

“Jaskier, are you alright?”

Jaskier shook his head:

“No. Geralt, we _have_ to help.”

His eyes were wide and teary, and Geralt clenched his own shut and ground out a low, growling _“fuck”_ , running a hand over his face:

“How imminent is the danger? Can it wait until morning?”

Gerda nodded, a tentative, grateful smile making its way across her face:

“I should think it can. Oh, thank you so much for agreeing to help, sir!”

As she scampered away, Geralt glanced over at Jaskier, who remained motionless where he had been standing throughout the conversation: he was pale, jaw working, hands clenching into fists, and then relaxing again. Geralt guided him into a seat and sat back down himself, asking again:

“Are you alright?”

Jaskier shook his head and glanced up at Geralt, his expression unreadable, but Geralt could smell the bubbling fury underlying his calm facade. At long last, he spoke:

“I need a fucking drink, then I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. I can’t even spit the words out right now.”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow at him and inquired softly:

“That bad, huh?”

Jaskier nodded tensely, lips pressed into a thin line. Geralt hummed and rested a hand over his on the tabletop - he was still shaking and breathing shallowly, but seemed to relax at the touch.

“Alright. Let me know what you want, and I’ll go get it.”

Jaskier nodded again, looking deflated and on the verge of tears - from anger or sorrow, Geralt couldn’t tell. Not that either possibility would be less disconcerting. 

It was a long moment before Jaskier finally replied, with a low groan and a huff, shaking his head and ruffling a hand through his hair:

“I think I saw a reasonably priced south coast red. Here. I think this should cover it,” he said, turning Geralt’s hand over and pressing a few coins into the palm. Geralt looked at him for a moment, puzzled, then returned them:

“I’ll buy this time, since, for once, _I’m_ the one asking for a story.”

Jaskier chuckled and it was a weak, warbly sound, like a man driven half-mad:

“I’ll do my best to explain it. Meet me at the room? I don’t want to talk about this so publicly.”

Geralt nodded and approached the bar as Jaskier trudged wearily up the stairs to their room.

When Geralt reached the room with the wine, Jaskier was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands - as Geralt drew closer, he could see tiny crescent bruises (and even a trickling cut or two, he realized with a sinking feeling) where Jaskier’s short fingernails had dug into the palms. 

Closing the door and setting the wine down on the little table, Geralt crossed the room in two great strides and knelt in front of Jaskier. The top two or three buttons of the bard's doublet were undone, the soft linen chemise (more practical, Geralt noted, than the slimier, costlier, silk-like fabrics the bard favored wearing when they had just started out their journeys together) peeking out and revealing, in turn, a small patch of chest hair. He looked down silently at Geralt, until the witcher spoke up:

“You’ve hurt yourself.”

Jaskier blinked a few times, shaking his head with another weak little laugh:

“Yeah. Fae lineage may make me nearly immortal and more resistant to serious injury, but it makes navigating life without bruises difficult.”

Geralt carefully, loosely, took Jaskier’s left hand in his own - it had suffered less damage than the right, since he kept the nails shorter for finding chords on his lute - and kissed the bruised palm:

“You need to be gentle with yourself, then, love.”

Jaskier groaned at the soft touch and leaned his head back, some of the lingering tension fading from his features as his eyes slipped shut with pleasure:

“You’re honestly making me want to forget about the wine for now. _Please_ , Geralt, _do_ show me how to ‘be gentle with myself’.”

Geralt smiled - no, smirked - and undid the button at Jaskier’s sleeve cuff, almost painfully slowly, untied the ribbon closure of the chemise sleeve underneath, and planted a trail of feather-light kisses up to the crook of the bard’s elbow, feeling Jaskier tremble with something different now, with anticipation instead of anger. Any other time they might have been a little less cautious, but Jaskier needed tenderness right now, and so tenderness he was to receive. 

Jaskier’s bleeding right hand was already reaching for the next fastening on his doublet, eager to undo it, but Geralt stopped him:

“I’ll treat the hand first, _then_ we can proceed.”

“But Geralt…”

“No whining. Hand.”

Jaskier grumbled softly and rolled his eyes, dramatically draping his hand into Geralt’s, palm-up. Geralt laid it down on Jaskier’s knee, standing up to retrieve his pack and one of the stools from the table. He cleaned and dressed the cuts on Jaskier’s hand, placing another soft kiss on top of the bandages. Then a ghosting line of kisses up that arm, as he had with the other:

"There now. All better."

Jaskier hummed softly, lifting his bandaged hand to tilt Geralt's chin up and give him a peck on the lips:

"And what would I ever do without you, dear heart?"

"Probably find someone else to bother," Geralt said gruffly, but the gleam in his eye gave away that he was teasing. Jaskier squealed indignantly and batted at Geralt's hands as the witcher reached out to trace his fingers, barely skimming, along the bard's collarbone where he knew it would tickle:

"Hey! What happened to 'be gentle with yourself, Jaskier'?"

Geralt smiled at him again:

"I _did_ say that, didn't I? Perhaps some kisses would be more to your liking?"

Jaskier whined and pouted at Geralt:

"Come on, then! Don't keep me waiting!"

Bracing one knee gingerly against the frame of the bed, Geralt leaned in to kiss Jaskier's neck. The bard was scrambling to get out of his doublet, but his left hand came up to tangle in Geralt's hair and he moaned.

Geralt kissed his way down into the curly patch of hair visible above the collar of Jaskier's chemise. He gently nudged the bard's hands aside and took over the task of unbuttoning the doublet the rest of the way - and why the _fuck_ were there _so many buttons_? He kissed each newly exposed inch of skin he could reach, undoing the ties at the front of the chemise just a little more so that he could slide it down over Jaskier's shoulder and kiss the scattering of freckles there from the sunburn five summers past. 

Idly he recalled their day on the beach near Jaskier's family home, the day he'd finally committed to confessing his love for the bard. They'd been sharing some sweet blueberry wine from the family winery, Jaskier's head resting on his shoulder as they sat there looking out over the ocean.

A soft whine urged him back to reality, and he continued kissing his way down Jaskier’s chest, finally casting the doublet aside and kneeling beside the bed to divest him of his leggings, too. The bard’s hands followed his, stopping him momentarily:

“Do you want me to get my - “

Geralt shook his head:

“That’s for you to decide. Tonight is about you.”

Jaskier gazed at him affectionately for a long moment, then hummed:

“Well, your mouth _is_ quite close to someplace I would _very_ much like it to be.”

Geralt hummed, resting his chin between the bard’s legs on the edge of the bed and nosing at him through the thin fabric of his nether garment:

“Wherever _could_ that be?”

The waft of warm air from his words was answered with a small damp spot in the fabric, a twitch of the small bulge there, and another moan, and the hand threaded into his hair tugged him forward slightly as the heady scent of Jaskier's arousal surrounded him:

"Oh Gods, Geralt, _stop_ teasing. I'm asking you to go down on me!"

"With or without your magic dick?"

Jaskier groaned and huffed, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the device with its harness where it sat on the side of the tub:

"If I try to wait and put it on, I may end up ruining things by coming when my nether garment's not even off. I've been on the edge since you started kissing my neck. You _know_ how I am about that, Geralt. You've undone me that way before."

Geralt hummed and smirked again, nose and mouth right up against the fabric now, and the damp spot grew a little larger as he leaned back. Jaskier had released his grip on Geralt's hair and was already hooking his thumbs into the waistband of the garment and shimmying out of it. He dropped it off the side of the bed and leaned back on his elbows, letting his legs fall open a little as he did so. He still wore his chemise, but now it was rumpled up around his hips.

Geralt descended on him with a tender ferocity, lifting his legs up, sprinkling kisses along his inner thighs and whispering warm words of praise against his cunt - for how well he did his work as a bard, for his sense of adventure, for his surprisingly brilliant mind, for his zest for life, for everything the witcher could think of that he adored about Jaskier. The bard huffed softly, and his hands tangled in Geralt's hair again, tugging and encouraging:

"Geralt, I swear to _every fucking god_ , I will _burst_ if you don't hurry up."

Geralt smirked up at him:

"Only every _fucking_ god?"

Jaskier snorted with laughter and opened his mouth to answer, then his grip on Geralt's hair tightened and all that came out was an incoherent string of swears, pleas and soft exclamations as the wet warmth of the witcher's mouth enveloped his cock, each little dart and flick of the tongue drawing him onward towards the brink of bliss.

It seemed far too short a time until he could bear it no longer, and he came with a long, low moan that sounded a great deal like Geralt's name, his thighs clenching around the witcher's head. He felt so thoroughly undone, such a quivering mess as the aftershocks rolled through him, that there was a long pause before he could muster the energy to finally reply:

"Of course - after all, they're the only ones with any particular power in that domain," he gasped, trying and failing to suppress a lazy smirk, as the haze of pleasure finally cleared.

Geralt smirked back, stood and leaned over to kiss Jaskier on the mouth. The bard feigned indignation at the taste of himself on his witcher's lips before giving in with a chuckle and kissing back, long and slow. Geralt gave him an almost apologetic look, then stepped back, leaving Jaskier still panting a little, and moved towards the table:

"If you're still up for a talk over a drink, I'll pour the wine."

Still flushed with a slight afterglow, Jaskier clambered up from the bed and into his smallclothes and leggings, settling heavily back on the edge of the bed as Geralt returned with the wine and the cups:

"I think I can handle it now that I'm a little less tense… though I won't say no if you'd _like_ to talk about it over a drink."

Geralt chuckled and poured a cup for each of them. Jaskier took his gratefully, cradling it in both hands and staring down into it:

“Where should I begin?”

Geralt hummed:

“How about with the part where you became tense at the name ‘Hugh’? Is it because I mentioned it after your song?”

Jaskier turned a lovely shade of pink, though he had yet to take a sip of the wine, and glanced up at Geralt:

“Well, yes and no. I used to know someone by the name you mentioned after my performance. We were very close, actually, and… I didn't want to believe it, but I think the Baron’s husband Hugh is the same person.”

Geralt looked at him with a perplexed expression:

“Manatee? That’s an unusual last name.”

Jaskier tried to say:

_It’s because he’s a manatee selkie._

He couldn’t form the words, though, and they slipped from his thoughts entirely the next moment, so instead he simply said:

“He was… an unusual fellow. I was quite fond of him, but some time after I followed you on your Path, I sent word and went back to the place we’d meet, but he never answered. I haven’t seen him since. If he’s - “

_If he’s been living on land all this time -_ but the thought vanished halfway through. Jaskier shook his head and started again:

“If he’s been living with Lord Bastian as his husband, and now is in danger, I fear it may be a danger brought upon him by Lord Bastian himself.”

“What, you think he’s -”

_I think he’s keeping him from the sea. ___

____

____

“I think Lord Bastian is abusing Hugh. I’ve met him before, and I didn’t trust him for a moment. Katri was uncomfortable when he was visiting a decade or so ago, too - ask her the next time you see her, if you don’t believe me! He kept leering at us both, talking about how lucky his brother was to have netted a faerie, and how he’d like to have some fun with me. Roelof kicked him out after that, and apologized profusely to both myself and Katri for his brother's atrocious behavior. I recall, though, that Lord Bastian described his new husband during that dinner, someone who -”

_Who was a selkie like Hugh._

“- who sounded so similar to how I remembered Hugh. I hated the thought that it might be him then, but I couldn’t be sure until tonight.”

Jaskier was staring down at his wine, elbows on his knees on the edge of the bed, and Geralt watched a few tears drip from the bard’s chin into the cup:

“Look at me, Jaskier,” he said softly, using his thumb and forefinger to gently tilt Jaskier’s chin up, “no matter what the danger is, we’ll ensure that Hugh is protected from it. Rescued, if need be.”

Jaskier chuckled:

“Yes, what an excellent story that would make!”

Geralt released his chin, and they sat and sipped their wine in silence for a short time. Finally, Geralt spoke up:

"So - on a lighter note, have you heard any news from home?"

He spoke now of Jaskier's hometown as if it were his own. The bard smiled, although his eyes still betrayed fatigue and worry:

"I did, actually! My mother writes that she has just had another foreseeing dream. Imagine that! Eleven years of no new siblings, and suddenly here we are! I'm going to be an older brother yet again!"

Geralt smiled, leaning forward to kiss Jaskier's cheek:

"And you'll do a wonderful job of being one, as always."

"I always wish there was a way we could -"

"I know. Believe me, I do know - the first moment I held Luca, I wished so desperately he was my son by blood. It can't be, though, so let's not dwell on it."

At the mention of his younger son's name, Jaskier's smile finally reached his eyes:

"You know he wants to follow in your footsteps, Geralt. He acts more like your son than mine."

Geralt beamed - ten years as the twins' stepfather (of sorts, he reminded himself - he and Jaskier had yet to set a wedding date) had proved this to be true. Luca was so set on training, it sometimes seemed he felt his life's purpose depended on it. It did terrify Geralt to think of his son getting into the kind of danger he so often found himself in, but it would ultimately not be a choice he had the right to make for the boy. He pried himself out of his thoughts and replied:

"It's true, but you've seen how dedicated Noah is already to the study of music and poetry. He's going to take more after you."

Springs and autumns were spent in pursuit of the Path now, winters at Kaer Morhen with the other Wolves (who the twins called their uncles and grandfather), summers at the Pankratz family home with Jaskier's parents, whole gaggle of siblings and the twins. Each autumn the family of four picked their way north-east, each spring south-west.

Luca was trusted for now with learning how to help Geralt in small, relatively safe ways, like identifying and collecting the plant materials for potions, and Noah's skill with words and persuasion helped draw bigger crowds to Jaskier's performances.

Right now Geralt and Jaskier were coming back from a summer hunt, the kind that were generally short and for which the twins stayed with their fae grandparents. It ensured the twins were out of harm's way and entertained, and their fathers could both keep working to put food on the table during the summers.

_Except we'll have to stay a little longer here, because of the new situation with Hugh. Fuck._

He was shaken from his thoughts as Jaskier yawned and stretched a little. 

"We'd better get some sleep."

Jaskier nodded and handed his cup to Geralt. He curled up on his side, facing the witcher, his eyes already half-lidded with drowsiness, and lifted his left arm:

"Come hold me, then."

Setting the wine aside on the table, Geralt circled the bed and laid down, wrapping his arms around Jaskier from behind and leaning forward to press a kiss between the bard's shoulder blades and cuddle him a little closer. Jaskier hummed softly with happiness, and it wasn't long until Geralt heard his breathing steady into the deep, even rhythm of a peaceful sleep. He allowed himself a small affectionate smile and a gentle kiss on top of Jaskier's head before letting sleep take hold of him, too.


	2. That House At The Top of The Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier pay a visit to Lord Bastian's mansion and meet Hugh.

There was a thin beam of sunlight through the window of their room when Jaskier woke, and Geralt was already up and dressed. He smiled when he saw Jaskier awake:

"I hope I didn't wake you."

Jaskier groaned, dramatically throwing an arm across his face:

"No. The sun's coming up. Couldn't stay asleep with this much light pouring in."

Jaskier dressed in silence, unusual for him, and sat down on the little stool beside the bed from last night. Geralt knelt in front of him and held his hands:

"Are you alright, Jaskier?"

Jaskier opened his mouth, closed it again, finally found the right words:

"What if it isn't him? Or… or what if it _is_? What if he's angry with me? What if I'm still in love with him?"

"Jaskier - "

The bard continued on, paying no mind:

"It doesn't matter, of course - he's married now, I'm all-but married to you now, and it just can't be. Maybe he'll refuse to even see me, like last time I tried to visit to figure out if it _was_ him."

" _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt repeated, not allowing himself to be interrupted this time, “I have no objection to you still being in love with him. I thought this was something that we weren't worrying about? You fall in love _hard_ , and _fast_ , and **_often_** , Jaskier, and I don't feel I have any right or reason to be upset with that. I'm honored to be the one you call ‘home’, but being your _one_ doesn't mean I have to be your _only_. I know you also love Eskel in a similar way, and I can see you still love Hugh as well."

“I do. And most importantly, I want him to be safe.”

“And he will be. We’ll make sure of that," Geralt replied, standing and kissing the bard's forehead, "but for now, we should pack up and go.”

***

They reached the clifftop mansion an hour or two before midday. Lord Bastian answered the door - he was a rather tall man, only slightly shorter and smaller of build than Geralt, with a broad brutish face:

“Well, if it isn’t the famous witcher, Geralt of Rivia! To what do I owe the, ah, pleasure?”

Jaskier stepped forward from behind Geralt:

“Actually, we were just traveling through town and we had hoped you might be able to help us with something.”

“Certainly,” the baron said with a sneering grin, looking them both over as if they were tracking mud on his floors, though they hadn’t yet entered the house and the weather was fair, “anything for my sister-in-law’s brother and his... _friend_?”

“ _Husband_ , actually,” Jaskier replied, as calmly as he could manage, flashing the placeholder rings he had worn for two years now. Geralt said nothing, but pointedly glanced at his own, then gave Lord Bastian a small smile that, were it not for the slightly challenging glint in his eye, could almost have seemed sympathetic. The baron reacted with an equally challenging look of feigned shock:

“Oh, I didn’t know! I’d expected my dear brother would have mentioned his brother-in-law’s marriage, but perhaps he did and I merely missed it. However _were_ you able to marry _him_?”

Jaskier gave him an exceedingly hurt look:

“Lord Bastian, _surely_ you’re not under the mistaken impression that he is unfit or unable to be _married_ just because he is a _witcher_! He is _sterile_ , not sworn to a _temple_! You would think someone educated, as I know you are, should know better!”

Lord Bastian shrugged:

“For all I know, sterile could mean he’s… unable to please you.”

Geralt cleared his throat, his smile still polite, but his voice and eyes betrayed his discomfort with the statement:

“I do not believe my ability in that area is in need of any remark.”

Behind him, Jaskier snickered, but composed himself when he saw Geralt turn and glare at him:

“ _Any_ remark, Jaskier. _Please_.”

There was a very long and awkward pause before Lord Bastian cleared his throat and spoke up:

"Do forgive me - it's terribly rude of me to have kept such _esteemed_ guests waiting."

He showed them into the front hall, the walls of intricately carved and polished wood paneling formed into arches containing tapestries and paintings. Jaskier had almost passed the archway to the parlor, but found himself drawn to the landscape painting above the fireplace. As he entered the room, a familiar voice, though it had grown dusty and weathered like an antique tome, greeted him:

"Well, if it isn't Julian Pankratz."

At the sound of his given name, Jaskier jumped and turned. A gaunt man of about his own years, with dark curly hair just past the nape of his neck and a week’s worth of scruffy beard, lay listlessly on the couch, simply clad in a stained chemise and loose trousers. His ears were like fish fins, and twin cheek tattoos curled just below his feverishly glistening brown eyes. Jaskier recognized him immediately, though he looked so fragile compared to Jaskier’s memory of him:

“Hugh? Oh, gods, is it you?”

The man tried to lift himself from the couch, but dropped back, too weak to sit upright. He sneered at Jaskier:

“Of course it’s me, you fucker. Though why you think I’d ever want to see you again is beyond me.”

“What did I ever do to y -”

Hugh’s eyes blazed with fury:

“What did you ever do to me? It’s because of your fucking song claiming some asshole witcher you were mooning over was my friend that Lord Bastian found me, kidnapped me, forced me to marry him. All of this, every moment of suffering I’ve endured these past ten years, is your gods-damned fault, Julian!”

“Hugh… that song doesn’t even mention your name.”

Hugh narrowed his eyes and waved a frail arm dramatically:

“Don’t spew your fucking bullshit to me, Julian. I’ve heard people singing it. When I was still strong enough to walk with my husband in the town. He's even told me himself it's why he sought me out.”

Jaskier crossed the room and knelt before the couch:

"I swear to you, Hugh. I have my songbook here to prove it. Here's the original lyrics."

Hugh looked at him skeptically for a long moment:

"How can I be sure you're telling the truth?"

"Hugh, I swear on the memory of every sunny summer day we spent together, every time we shared elderberry wine from my family's winery. I still love you and I would never willingly or knowingly have done anything to hurt you. I didn't even know people were hearing it that way until last night."

At long last, Hugh took the proffered songbook and scanned the lyrics. His heart raced, and he couldn't tell whether the loss and betrayal he'd felt over the past decade ached less or more at the knowledge of the truth:

"A friend of… humanity. Like, humankind. Oh, gods, Julian. I thought you'd betrayed me intentionally, but you really _are_ just a fool who can't recognize when words and names sound alike."

"Leave with me. With _us_."

"I can't walk."

"Geralt will carry you. _Geralt_!"

Footsteps echoed back along the hallway, and the witcher leaned in to see:

"Jaskier, why are you sh -"

"No time to explain. Hugh, Geralt. Geralt, Hugh. Introductions have been great, but let's speed this up."

"Indeed, you must all be hungry," Lord Bastian said, appearing suddenly from behind Geralt, "how wonderful to see you've met our guests, Hugh, dear. They'll be staying on for a few days on their way back up to Lettenhove."

"I would never want to impose on you like that," Jaskier said, with a polite smile that did not reach his eyes. The baron responded with an icy smile of his own:

"Nonsense. It's my pleasure to play host to such honored guests. Shall we move this to the dining room?"

"Where's my chair?"

Lord Bastian rolled his eyes:

"Your chair is already there."

"Would someone bring it, please," Hugh asked, voice honey-sweet, "you know how terribly hard it is for me to walk any distance anymore."

Geralt's brow furrowed at the "anymore" as Lord Bastian grumbled and went to fetch the chair himself:

"Were you injured?"

Hugh looked up at him curiously:

"Not… not in _this_ instance. I've simply grown very ill since my maid Gerda was sent away."

"Can you think of any reason why?"

"Yes, but I cannot say it. My husband has forbidden it."

"He can't forbid you from speaking… unless he's used a binding charm of some sort."

The pleading gaze he got in response was confirmation enough:

"Alright. Let's play a guessing game while we wait for him to return with your chair. Your maid was ensuring you had something you needed to help you remain healthy."

Hugh nodded, and Jaskier, who had himself felt the charm's effects, followed up with:

"And it's something easily obtained near here… salt water?"

Hugh's eyes widened, and he nodded frantically. Geralt frowned:

"So you needed salt water? That means you're probably some sort of aquatic non-human. But not a merman. Of the seal people?"

Hugh didn't even manage a nod this time as the charm seized him, but the intake of breath was so sharp that Geralt had little doubt he had struck on it.

"What of the... item you'll need to return to the sea," he asked, very quietly, "do you know where he keeps it?"

Hugh's gaze darted towards the archway, where Lord Bastian had reappeared with a canopy armchair on wheels. Geralt nodded to him, and the baron reached to lift Hugh from the couch to the chair. The frail man flinched slightly at the sudden gesture, and Geralt intervened:

"May I?"

Lord Bastian's eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn't reply, instead stepping back with his hands raised in mocking surrender. Hugh nodded and reached out his arms to hang on as Geralt carefully picked him up and set him in the chair. He held on just a little too tightly, and Geralt glanced down at him with a concerned expression. Hugh's shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Geralt could feel the dampness seeping into the shoulder of his shirt:

"Hugh… it's going to be alright."

Lord Bastian laughed nervously:

"I'm sure he's just tired - he's barely been eating or sleeping since that maid of his, that little would-be thief Gerda, left."

Geralt narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the baron, but said nothing. Lord Bastian kept talking as they proceeded to the dining room:

"Would you believe the little wretch thought she could steal from me and get away with it?"

"What did she try to steal?"

"Some clothes. Little value financially, but immense to me personally. Thankfully I caught her before she could make off with them."

Jaskier gave Geralt a pointed glance behind the baron's back, widening his eyes and inclining his head towards the witcher emphatically.

_The coat._


	3. Every Moon In The Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt, Jaskier and Hugh form a plan to locate and retrieve Hugh's coat.

The dining room, as it turned out, overlooked the back garden, and beyond that, the sea. Jaskier could see the sour expression on Hugh's face as they entered the room but, more than that, he could see the longing for _home_ behind it.

He could remember when he'd had that same longing in his eyes - the days after his foreseeing dream with the twins, knowing he would die if they didn't make it back to his hometown in time. 

He knew it must be much the same for Hugh - how long now had he been without so much as a bath with seawater? Surely he wouldn't last much longer. As if he could tell what Jaskier was thinking, Hugh reached out a bony hand and patted the bard's, making eye contact and whispering:

"Full moon. Three days' time."

The first full moon after Midaëte. The power of the sun and moon would join to create a stronger tide and amplify the magic of the transformation, more favorable for a return to the sea in Hugh’s weakened state - and if they couldn’t manage it, he would fade and die long before this time next year. Jaskier swallowed heavily and nodded, with a sigh.

After lunch, Jaskier volunteered to take Hugh for a stroll in the garden, suggesting that Lord Bastian talk with Geralt (and shooting the witcher an apologetic look for the trouble). Fortunately, it seemed the baron had some other business to attend to, so Geralt joined Hugh and Jaskier instead. 

The walk from the dining room to the garden was a quiet one, everything remaining unsaid hanging in the air between them. As they reached the fountain in the center of the garden, Hugh spoke up again:

“The full moon. It’s my last chance to return home, or I _will_ die. As it is, in my more delicate health, my ability to complete the change back to my… other form will only work if it’s amplified, as it will be by the full moon and its proximity to Midaëte. Any time between now and the rise of the full moon, I will be able to return.”

Geralt calculated it and came to the same conclusion:

“We have three days to get him back to the sea.”

Hugh nodded weakly, looking defeated and on the verge of tears:

“That was my estimate, too. His… his charm keeps me from speaking about the...”

He bobbed his head as if trying to speak, but couldn’t seem to choke out the words, and let out a deep sigh, clenching his eyes shut.

“It’s alright. I understand what you mean. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Hugh opened his eyes and nodded, and his jaw worked as he tried not to cry. Geralt slowly reached out and laid a hand lightly on the man’s shoulder - not failing to notice the slight flinch in spite of his caution:

“You said earlier you weren’t injured ‘this time’. Has Lord Bastian struck you or injured you in the past?”

Hugh bit his lower lip, his expression turning pained as he nodded:

“Only… only when I had made him very angry. Like when I tried to flee, or when I was ‘too kind’ with the villagers. Or when I talked back or stood up for myself - I learned not to do that quickly enough, though the temptation never faded.”

He looked away, almost afraid to continue, before going on in a whisper:

“He threatened me with worse. He… he has a horrible barbed spear, and he said if I tried to flee again, he’d…”

“He’d kill you,” Jaskier said, in a horrified tone.

Hugh started to nod, then closed his eyes and shook his head with a shudder:

“He told me later he wouldn’t _truly_ take that much of a chance, not with knowing my station in my people’s world - much higher than his, let me tell you! No, he threatened to disfigure me with his dagger, instead. ‘Destroy my beauty’, as if he hadn’t done that already by keeping me here so long - do you know how long it’ll take me to regain my health?”

He went quiet for a long moment, and Geralt slowly moved the hand on his shoulder back and forth, in an awkward attempt at reassurance. Hugh gave him a small smile, patting his hand now as well, and whispered conspiratorially:

“I’m not afraid of him, no matter what he says. Besides, if I die trying to escape, at least I tried. And even if he'd risk killing _me_ , I don’t think he’d go after either of _you_ \- he doesn’t need the trouble of that on his hands on top of the fury of my people.”

"Your… _people_?"

Jaskier reached out and touched Geralt's forearm softly:

"Geralt, dear… Hugh is _royalty_ among his people."

_A manatee seal-man who is a prince. Or a king?_

“Crown Prince, last I was aware of,” Hugh chimed in, as if reading Geralt’s mind, “though one never knows - ten years can make for a lot of changes.”

“Never fear. His _specialty_ is saving royals in distress.”

Ignoring Geralt's glare at the flowery phrasing, Jaskier smiled innocently back at him. The witcher was silent for a long moment before reassuring Hugh:

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. We’ll both do everything in our power to help you. Do you know where Lord Bastian keeps… well, what’s keeping you here?”

Hugh gave him a look:

“Do you think I’d be able to answer that, given the circumstances?”

Geralt nodded:

“Point taken.”

Hugh seemed to remember something:

“I can tell you where it was. Before… before Gerda tried to help me get it back.”

Geralt nodded:

“Any information could be a significant help.”

“There’s a chest, in a room off of… off of our bedroom. He stowed it there for years, when he wasn’t flaunting it under my nose on his own person. As I’ve gotten weaker, he’s taken to leaving it in sight but out of reach.”

Hugh looked stunned at his sudden ability to make the confession. He made eye contact with Geralt, and the witcher nodded:

“That’s good. Whatever you’re able to get past the charm, it will help us.”

Hugh’s eyes widened:

“When… when I was in the parlor, it was on the table by my feet. As you saw, I’m too weak to sit up from the couch unaided, much less reach for it.”

Jaskier met Geralt’s gaze:

“We should go back inside. If it hasn’t been moved, we could retrieve it and get Hugh to safety!”

***

By the time they reached the parlor, Lord Bastian was returning from upstairs:

“Ah. Did the ocean breeze grow too cool for you, my dear?”

“Oh, a little. I’m sure it’s nothing that another rest near the fire won’t soothe.”

“Gods forbid I should keep you from it, then.”

Lord Bastian left them, and Geralt was able to easily move Hugh back to the couch. A quick scan of the room proved what they feared:

“He’s moved it again. It’s… it’s gone.”

Geralt honed in on his witcher senses, trying to trace the baron’s recent movements:

“Upstairs. In a large room.”

“The master bedroom, then. He may have moved it back to the chest, or…”

Hugh grew very pale:

“There is one thing he knows will trouble me above all else. If he is upset with me, he will sometimes wipe his feet on it.”

Jaskier suppressed a gag and replied:

“Gods, Hugh, that’s fucking _horrible_! I’m so sorry.”

“Hey. Julian. Relax. What I need now is help, not more apologies. We’ll talk about it more later, when it’s safe.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes in thought:

“I think I can figure out a way into the room. Lord Bastian has always been explicit about his desire for me, and I think I can get him to sleep without actually giving him what he wants. A drop or two of sleeping draught in his wine should knock him out before he can get _too_ handsy. And lucky for us, I have occasional insomnia, so I happen to have some on my person. If I can’t find what I'm looking for, though, I’ll have to distract him the next morning so Geralt can search.”

Hugh nodded:

“I’d accept anything to keep me from sharing my husband’s bed, though I think it’s best if you and Geralt talk it out between you first. Communication is the most important thing in a relationship, and in a plan.”

Jaskier met Geralt’s gaze:

“Is this something we could agree on as a plan?”

Geralt scowled for a moment, but sighed and nodded:

“Be careful around the baron. I don’t trust him.”

“You can trust _me_ to take care of myself. If all else fails, a night being bedded by that greasy, leering fucker is a sacrifice I’m willing to make in order to save the life of someone I love.”

“If at any point you feel genuinely threatened, shout for me.”

“If I end up having to put up with being plowed by him, I’m sure as hell not going to be calling _his_ name!”

Though Jaskier was joking, Geralt could see how tense he had become:

“Are you sure you want to do this? We can work out a way to distract him without this.”

“I… I don’t… yes. No. I don’t know. I… I’ll slip the sleeping draught into his wine, and ply him with it before retiring. He’ll be out like a light as soon as he reaches his bed, and I’ll have a look around the room for… for your...”

Jaskier was unable to finish the sentence, and instead followed it with a sneeze:

“Oh, it must be terribly dusty in here!”

Hugh chuckled:

“Nothing much new there.”

“Gods, it’s like an old library.”

“You wouldn’t know an old library if it hit you in the face, Jules.”

“Excuse you! I graduated university, you'll recall - a feat I doubt I could have achieved without reading a _great many_ books from and in old libraries!”

Hugh grinned smugly:

"Admit it - most of what you used any course-relevant books you opened at university for was to hide a drink, or a snack, or a mischievous note to pass to a classmate. Or sometimes a love letter - I seem to recall being on the receiving end of a few of _those_ snuck during classes!"

"Oh, stop it! I did my fair share of studying, too!"

"Yeah, about five hours total during each term, just enough to bullshit your way through the coursework, and then seventy-two consecutive hours in the last few days, scrambling to get the last assignments in on time and prepare for the finals in classes that had them."

Jaskier rolled his eyes, but he was grinning:

"Geralt, will you _please_ stand up for me against this dreadful teasing?"

Geralt hummed and replied, with just the faintest trace of a smirk:

"I don't know - sounds a lot like you to be a last-minute scholar."

"Oh, you're _both_ terrible," Jaskier pouted, "mocking my younger self so mercilessly!"

"You were the life of the party, though, once you took to the notion of poetry and music."

"What party? I don't recall any parties happening."

Despite his protestations, there was a twinkle in Jaskier's eye. There certainly _had_ been parties at university - or rather, drunken stumbles through the streets of Oxenfurt with little gaggles of friends, singing bawdy songs at the top of their lungs, later than would ever be reasonable for students on a weeknight. Like most who had graduated, he had left those days behind after life led him on his way - in his case, to being a father and a husband.

An idea occurred to him, and he leaned in close to the others:

"I think I'll need to figure out a reason for suddenly changing my tune about sleeping with him. Otherwise he might suspect something isn't quite right. Geralt, we need to argue. As loudly as possible. Staged, of course, but convincing enough for him to believe I'm seeking someone else to share a bed with, and perhaps _share a bed with_ ," here he waggled his eyebrows for emphasis, "at least for the time being. I'll return to you once I've searched the chamber, with what we're looking for if I find it, otherwise to let you know you'll need to take a look yourself."

Geralt nodded slowly, contemplating the idea.

"That sounds good so far, but what if he asks why you left his bed in the night?"

Now it was Jaskier's turn to smirk:

"Easy enough to tell him that I couldn't sleep 'after' and went to reconcile with you. He'll be disappointed, I don't doubt, especially if I stroke his ego about the _hopefully_ non-existent sexual encounter and _oh-so-selflessly_ refuse a repeat of it anyway, but that will also make it more believable. I don't think he'll suspect a thing."

Geralt nodded:

"Could work. Just… be safe, alright?"

Jaskier gave him a quick kiss on the cheek:

"I will. Thank you. Don't worry, I'll be right back to you after."

"The magic grows stronger the closer we get to the full moon," Hugh interrupted, "so if you need to practice your argument, you could do it tomorrow morning, and put the plan into action overnight tomorrow into the next day."

Geralt frowned:

"Where could we practice without being overheard?"

"The beach is far enough down that your voices won't carry, and if Lord Bastian sees your 'argument' down there, it'll only help sell the one later on."

Jaskier nodded:

"That sounds like a good plan. Where's the nearest path down to the beach?"

"From the front door, walk about twenty paces straight ahead, then make a sharp left and continue on. It's a bit steep, but not too bad. Don't misstep, though - it's a sheer drop off a cliff if you stray from the trail."

"Alright. We should go down there tomorrow, give the excuse of gathering a few shells to take back to the twins. Geralt, I'll show you some simple blocking once we get there, and we can work out a script."

"For…?"

"For what we should argue about, of course!"

"I… uh… I can't think of anything to argue with you about."

"That's why we'll brainstorm together, tomorrow, on the beach."

Jaskier glanced over Geralt's shoulder, in the direction of the dining room - the sun was sinking below the horizon, painting the sky in blue, violet and gold:

"Wow. It's getting late, isn't it?"

"Where have the hours gone? It _is_ late."

***

They talked for a while longer, Hugh recalling tales from his and Jaskier's university days to an intently listening Geralt. Jaskier fetched the kettle and brewed three cups of tea for them, then leaned back against Geralt's shoulder, occasionally protesting details of some of the stories Hugh told.

At last, Lord Bastian joined them once more. Conversation died down after he entered the room, and they went their separate ways for the night - Hugh remaining in the parlor, having protested his fatigue after such a hectic day, Geralt and Jaskier retiring to their guest room, and none of them had really bothered to ask where Lord Bastian had gone off to. They'd seen him leave for town in a huff after Hugh had refused to join him in his chamber. 

They checked his chamber door - it was locked. Jaskier couldn't pick it, and behind him, Geralt gave a brief snort of laughter, recalling one of the stories Hugh had told:

"Harder to pick this lock than the one on the restricted section of the university library?"

"Look, Geralt, what was a twenty-one-year-old scholar - alright, _admittedly_ a fairly horny twenty-one-year-old scholar - supposed to expect in the restricted section of a library?"

He had most definitely expected something naughty, and instead had been greeted by a plethora of books on magic and monsters. Not what he'd been expecting or hoping for, though it had had a more intellectual appeal and he'd gladly admit he'd snuck back in more than a few times and read enough of the material to recognize at least a few of the monsters he'd seen traveling with Geralt. 

After several more minutes of fighting the lock, he flung his hands up in frustration and defeat and groaned:

"I give up! I can't do it. I must have lost my touch after so many years with no use for lock-picking."

Geralt gently hugged him from behind, whispering in his ear:

"Perhaps we should retire for tonight."

A chill coursed down Jaskier's spine, sending gooseflesh along his arms, at the soft words, and he leaned his head back with a smirk:

"Mmm… you're right. Never know when he might show back up. Best to make ourselves scarce."

Geralt's fingers skimmed lightly across the bard's ribs, tickling him just a little, and Jaskier turned to face him for a kiss, breathing reverently against his lips:

" _Gods_ , Geralt, I love you. I wish this was done and things were easier."

Geralt hummed quietly, resting their foreheads together:

"Things are _never_ easy, Jask, but being with you, having you by my side, they're worth it."

Jaskier grinned into the kiss:

"Sentimental old man."

" _Your_ sentimental old man. And besides, look who's talking!"

Jaskier responded with a very convincing scandalized noise:

" _Excuse me?_ I am _not_ old! Thirty-four is _not_ old, even for a human, which I am not! I was less than two full years out of university when we met!"

"Mmm… you don't deny you're sentimental, though."

"No. I won't deny the truth. I'm a bard. A _poet_ , dear. It's my job to be sentimental - and to weave beautiful stories, of course. I'm just a little _more_ sentimental when it's with you."

Geralt hummed and kissed him again:

"Let's go to bed."

"Proposition or practical suggestion?"

"Practical suggestion more so than a proposition, but I wouldn't turn down either."

Jaskier opened his mouth to reply, but instead just yawned. Geralt hummed again, scooped him up and carried him into their room:

" _Definitely_ a practical suggestion, then."

"You're no fun," Jaskier protested, but his voice was getting drowsier by the word.

"It's been a long day, and the next few are sure to be even longer. Now go to sleep, Jaskier."

"And what are you going to do - keep watch over me all night? I imagine that would get boring after a while."

"I could never get bored looking at you or watching over you. However, if I can't sleep, I'll probably meditate instead."

Jaskier nodded, then drifted to sleep with his ear to Geralt's chest, between one heartbeat and the next. Geralt tucked him in, brushing back a few loose strands of hair from his face, and crawled under the covers beside him.

He lay there, thinking about the old adage of how no witcher had ever died peacefully in his bed. He would have to face it - someday, who knew when, he'd end up leaving for a hunt and not returning. Would the time they'd had be enough to sustain Jaskier through perhaps centuries to follow? His mind was restless, though he tried to relax, adjusting to pull the bard a little closer. Jaskier shifted and mumbled something in his sleep, smiling into Geralt's neck, and tears prickled at the corners of the witcher's eyes:

"I love you so, _so_ much, Jaskier. Sleep well, and have sweet dreams."

He closed his eyes and willed his mind to clear. By the time it finally did, he was asleep.


	4. All Hell And Its Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan is put into action as time runs short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter featuring [this gorgeous art](https://ja0netholmes.tumblr.com/post/623372255729254400/im-excited-to-share-the-piece-i-created-for) by the wonderful [@ja0netholmes](http://ja0netholmes.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr!

Geralt was startled awake by shouting and thrashing. It took him a moment to re-orient himself and locate the source of the fuss: Jaskier, his eyes closed, hair and clothes soaked with sweat, writhing and kicking at the blankets in his sleep. His voice was loud and trembling:

"No! No, _stay away_! Get _off_ of me!"

He had already broken free of Geralt's embrace and the blankets, and Geralt didn't want to touch him - best not to wake him like that from these nightmares. He'd tried that a grand total of once, early on, and the panicked punch to the nose he'd been instantaneously rewarded with had deterred any further attempts. Instead he just spoke to him in a calming tone:

"Jaskier? Jaskier, I know you're frightened right now, but what you're seeing, it's a dream. A memory, nothing more. I know it seems very real, it seems so much like you're experiencing it all over again. It's a dream."

The squirming gave way to the bard sitting bolt upright, taking one look at Geralt and, with an expression like he'd just seen a ghost, scrambling right off the edge of the bed and across the floor. Geralt slowly slipped out from under the blankets and knelt by the foot of the bed holding his hands up, palms forward in a gesture to show he meant no harm:

"Jaskier, it's just me. It's Geralt. Breathe deeply with me, alright?"

The bard obeyed. Once, twice… and then he was crawling _towards_ Geralt, crawling up into his lap and curling into the smallest possible ball:

"Fuck… _fuck_. I'm awake. I'm awake now. _Hold me_ , Geralt. I - I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone with my thoughts right now."

Geralt hummed and kissed the top of Jaskier's head, putting an arm loosely around his shoulders and stroking his hair:

"You're _not_ alone. As long as I live, I'm going to be here _for_ you and _with_ you. I'm going to protect you with everything I have."

Jaskier nodded, still trembling, and buried his face into Geralt's shoulder. Geralt could feel the tears soaking into his shirt, and he hugged Jaskier just a little tighter. Even now, more than a decade later, fury flared up in his heart when he remembered the state the bard had been in when they met.

Jaskier continued to take deep breaths as Geralt gently rubbed his back. For a few long minutes, neither of them spoke. Geralt finally hummed, breaking the silence:

"Do you want to go back to sleep, or would it be better to stay up and talk about something to take your mind off of it?"

"I… I don't know. I might be able to fall asleep again after a talk."

"Do you want some of your chamomile tea?"

"You are so sweet, Geralt. Yes. Yes, I think that will help."

Jaskier slid out of Geralt's lap to sit on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and leaning against the foot of the bed.

Scanning the chamber, Geralt realized quickly they had left their tea kettle in the parlor. He knew they wouldn't be able to trust anything that had been placed in their chamber - even without intent to harm, there was always the danger of accidental exposure to a material that could injure Jaskier. The bard piped up:

"Kettle's still in the parlor, isn't it?"

Geralt grunted affirmatively:

"Do you want to go downstairs, or should I fetch it and come back up?"

"I don't want to be alone. Let me come with you, please?"

"Of course."

Jaskier dragged the blanket off of the bed, wrapping it around himself like a cape and curling in close against Geralt's side as they descended the stairs. Hugh was awake, and glanced up at them as they entered:

"Couldn't sleep either, Jules?"

Jaskier gave him a wan smile:

"Had a nightmare."

"What about? They're more likely to go away if you talk to someone about them."

Jaskier shuddered and grimaced, pulling the blanket a little tighter about his shoulders:

"Not these. They come from being hurt once, very badly. Hours before I met Geralt for the first time, and several months before the twins were born. Nine or ten months, to be exact."

Hugh's eyes widened in horror at the implication:

"I hope you don't mean you were…"

"Yes. And beaten, and robbed. Then they left me in the woods, dazed, traumatized and wounded, with no means to defend myself beyond my claws and teeth. All for the grievous mistake of existing and dwelling among the common folk as a disguised non-human in a backwards, backwater trash town. Geralt found me, alone and shivering, and he tended my wounds, brought me home to Lettenhove in time to give birth… he saved my life, more than once."

"Dear Gods, Julian. I'm so sorry I didn't reach out to you sooner after university. I should have been there to smack some sense into the fuckers who thought it was a good idea to hurt you like this."

Jaskier shook his head and replied quietly:

"No. They would only have hurt you, too. Worse, probably."

Neither of them had noticed Geralt busying himself fetching and heating some water, but Jaskier smiled and gratefully accepted the cup of tea placed in his hands, blowing lightly on it before taking a little sip. Geralt sat down beside the bard, rubbing his back with one hand:

"How are you feeling, Jaskier?"

Jaskier arched his back into the touch:

"Better now, love. Thank you."

The conversation this time turned to Jaskier and Geralt's meeting and their journeys together. Jaskier spilled the entire story of what had happened to him before their first meeting, tears welling in his eyes as he told the most graphic parts. He finished his tea slowly, letting it cool until he could drink it without burning his tongue, and talked all the while. He was yawning by the end, exhausted again, and he dozed off sprawled against Geralt's chest minutes after finishing the tea. Geralt and Hugh continued talking in hushed tones for a short time, until drowsiness overcame them as well.

***

The morning sun was harsher coming through dusty glass above their heads instead of a little open window at eye level, Geralt decided, trying to block it out for both himself and Jaskier. The bard hummed and stirred in his sleep, nuzzling into Geralt’s chest. Across the low table from them, Hugh smiled affectionately, speaking quietly so as not to wake Jaskier:

“He’s definitely a cuddler, isn’t he? I remember from our university days. He’d cling like a barnacle to a boat. On at least one occasion, we were both late for class because he overslept and wouldn’t let go of me. I’m sure it's only increased after…”

He frowned and stopped briefly, shuddering:

“Well, after everything the two of you caught me up on last night. You saved him from a more gruesome fate - who _knows_ what would have happened to him in the woods if you hadn't found him? Gods, I can’t believe I didn’t know. Poor Julian… anyone who would do that is no better than the monsters you live to hunt, Geralt.”

Geralt nodded solemnly:

“As dangerous, at least.”

Hugh looked at them, curled up together on the other couch, and there was something sad in his eyes, something wary:

“You… you take good care of him now, though, don’t you? You protect him, when he needs it?”

Geralt nodded:

“I'd protect him with my life, if I had to. Same goes for the twins. This family, this life with someone I love, raising _children_ together… it’s something I _never_ thought I could have. And now I _do_. There is nothing in this or any other world I wouldn’t do to protect them.”

Jaskier’s soft snoring had stopped, and Geralt could tell he was awake and smiling. He didn’t let on, but kissed the top of the bard’s head. Hugh smiled, too, at the sweet display of affection:

“That’s good. I just… I want to see him happy and safe. I still love him, I think. It’s all in the past, of course, has to be now that he has you, but I still want what’s best for him.”

Jaskier hummed and turned his head to face Hugh:

“I still love you, too,” he murmured, then nudged Geralt very gently in the ribs and added, “ _and_ this one.”

Geralt nuzzled at his hair a little more:

“Love you, too.”

Hugh still looked surprised by Jaskier's confession:

"You… you do?"

"Of course I do. Distance and time couldn't break the love I had - _have_ \- for you. There is room in my heart, and my life, for you, too. If you want to be, that is."

Hugh looked like he was about to cry:

"It's… it's impossible. It seems like it should be impossible. I want this _so badly_ \- want to be loved, to be truly treasured - but I can't afford the heartbreak of losing it again."

"It's not impossible," Jaskier replied, lifting his head a little, "it's only the truth of things. I'm not the flighty thing I was back then, we're here to save you, and _I still love you_."

Hugh huffed, fighting the urge to both laugh and cry:

"How _dare_ you tell me all this when I'm too weak to come over there and hug you?"

"I'll hug you before we go down to the beach. Which… Geralt, we really should as soon as we can."

***

They rehearsed on the beach until the sun began to sink towards the horizon, then returned to the mansion in silence, hand in hand. Supper was uneventful, and the evening's conversation turned dull quickly. Geralt and Jaskier hid away in their guest room, making final preparations for the scene. The bard messed up his hair, untucked his chemise halfway so he’d seem more rumpled, preened at the little glass in their room, and worked himself into fake tears. Geralt simply left his armor and other outerwear aside, keeping his own black chemise more tucked-in, if a little open at the collar. They were still behind closed doors, for now, so Jaskier kissed him for good luck, then began their little play, raising his voice just loud enough to be heard throughout the second floor:

“Geralt, I just cannot _take_ this! You never even _say_ what you’re feeling - you just _grunt_ and _huff_ like some sort of _wild animal_!”

Jaskier stormed towards the door, flailing his arms angrily, and flung it open - not _too_ hard, he didn’t intend to cause any damage. Geralt snarled and chased after him, blocking his path and gripping his wrist (not too tightly, but a casual onlooker wouldn’t see the difference) to pull him in and _hiss_ in his face:

“Well, maybe if you were better at reading what they mean, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now!”

“Struggling” against him, Jaskier replied:

“How am I supposed to read anything into the fact that you barely open your mouth except to be a horrible, insulting _scold_!”

Geralt rolled his eyes and sneered:

“ _Me_ a scold? Oh, _that’s_ rich.”

Jaskier tried not to grin with excitement as he noted that Lord Bastian had peered out of his room to see what was going on - the plan was going _perfectly_ \- instead twisting it into a grimace, bared teeth and clawed hands:

“And just what the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean, Geralt?”

“It means you do nothing but _nag_ me and treat me like a _child_ , Jaskier! And you never - _stop_ \- _**talking**_!”

Jaskier wailed his final line:

“ _Gods_ , Geralt, you are _impossible_!”

With that, he forced a new flood of tears to his eyes and sprung into action, digging his toes into the floorboard and glancing his shoulder off of Geralt’s. The witcher stumbled back, intentionally losing his footing and grabbing onto the hall table for support, and Jaskier darted away, down the stairs, audibly sobbing. For all Geralt had discovered about the baron, he wouldn’t have suspected hypocrisy until that moment - the man glared at him, a look that would kill if it could, before following Jaskier at some distance.

***

Jaskier fled to the dining room, curling up against the full-length windows on the seaward side. Only a few candles and torches were still burning, and it was rather gloomy and dim - even the most fastidious of lords mightn’t notice a few drops of clear liquid like a sleeping draught in the bottom of a goblet, not in this lighting. And Lord Bastian seemed rather lacking in that department already. Everything was going according to plan.

The bard sat and cried by the window until the baron reached him:

“Come now, sweet thing. Such a lovely creature shouldn’t be hurting like this. Let’s get you something to ease your poor frayed nerves and set you on the mend.”

Jaskier gave him a watery smile and sniffled:

“Thank you. You’re too kind.”

Though he loathed the touch of the man, Jaskier let himself be guided into one of the chairs around the dining table:

“There we go. Just wait here, I’ll return in a moment.”

Jaskier nodded, doing his best to look numb and exhausted. As he’d expected, the baron filled up both his own goblet and a cup for the bard, and returned to the table. Jaskier watched in silence as Lord Bastian took a large drink of his wine, and sipped delicately at his own cup:

“It’s very sweet of you to come and make sure I’m alright. I fear… each time we fight like this, I fear it’s the end. To be perfectly honest, things are on the rocks, and I don’t know who to turn to. I wish I could fix it, but right now I just need _solace_ , and I know you’d be more than eager to provide it.”

Lord Bastian smirked and downed another gulp of wine:

“I knew you’d see sense someday, Julian. It was only a matter of time.”

Jaskier glanced down demurely:

“I have one request, though. _Do_ be gentle with me - I cannot abide an unkind touch.”

“For you? Of course.”

With a third drink, the rest of the baron’s wine had vanished. Although Jaskier had barely sipped at his cup of wine, Lord Bastian whisked it away along with his own goblet and pulled the bard to him:

“Let me show you what a _real_ lover is. You won’t _want_ to fix things with that heartless bastard when we’re done.”

His hands grabbed at Jaskier’s waist, and the bard let himself be hoisted up clumsily, like a sack of potatoes, and carried back up the stairs - perhaps the little exertion of dragging around another person’s weight would make the drug kick in a little more quickly.

Lord Bastian pulled him over to the bed, but had barely sat down when he began to yawn:

“It seems I’m feeling a little drowsy, but let’s not let that stop us, alright?”

“Oh, certainly not,” Jaskier said, making his voice low and husky, “how could such a _little_ thing stand in the way of this moment I know you’ve been waiting for since we met. Let me help you slip out of those clothes.”

He had to bite back a wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him at the words that had just left his mouth, but kept a smile throughout. After Lord Bastian was mostly naked, Jaskier began to strip down as well, but had thankfully gotten no further than his chemise and the laces of his trousers before he heard a loud snoring. He prodded lightly at the baron’s ribs, but that only earned him a slightly louder snore. Sleeping like a log.

Jaskier set about quietly rifling through the boxes and drawers he could reach, but after an exhaustive search could find no sign of the coat with his ordinary senses. He sat down at the desk and penned a brief note:

_My dear Lord Bastian,_

_Thank you for the wonderful evening. I enjoyed it immensely, and might hope to do so again, were it not for the guilt which plagues me to my very soul at having betrayed my husband in this manner. By the time you read this message, I will have reconciled with him. Know, though, that I will think fondly of you in the days and years to come and cherish the memory of our one brief night together._

_\- Jaskier_

With that, he slipped from the chamber and back to his and Geralt’s guest room:

“So… good news or bad news first?”

“Let’s get the bad news out of the way. You couldn’t find it?”

“Good guess. You would be correct. However, let me follow that up by praising your performance earlier - I don’t think he suspected a _thing_! You were _perfect_!”

Geralt gave him a half-hearted smile:

“Thank you. So I’ll have to go search for myself. Perhaps he’s still deeply asleep enough?”

“I don’t doubt it. He was snoring louder than a hibernating rock troll. I can almost feel the vibrations of it from here!”

“I can _hear_ it from here.”

“And that’s why you’re using your super senses -”

“You mean Witcher senses -”

“Yes, yes, _Witcher_ senses - to search the chamber next. I’m sure you’ll sniff it out.”

***

“I traced the scent to the chest, but couldn’t find the key to unlock it before he started to stir. We’ll need to put the second part of our plan into action in the morning.”

“Let’s get some sleep, then.”

“Mmm… I don’t think I like the smell of that bastard on you.”

“Then get back in here and hold me, so I’ll smell like _you_ \- like _us_ \- again.”

Geralt smiled fondly, closing the door behind him as he entered their room and pulling Jaskier into an embrace:

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

***

The next morning, Jaskier woke early and tried to raise himself on his elbows, but was stopped by a weight on his chest - Geralt’s head, he realized the next moment. The witcher seemed to still be sleeping peacefully, draped across him like a blanket, and Jaskier didn’t want to wake him. So he settled back and skimmed his fingers lightly over Geralt’s shoulder, trying to be as gentle as possible. He felt a small smile against his chest, and Geralt spoke in a very drowsy, hushed tone, opening one eye halfway:

“Good morning, Jaskier.”

Jaskier smiled down at him, moving a hand to card through his hair softly:

“Good morning, Geralt. Didn’t realize you were awake.”

“Mm-hm. Halfway, at least. Have been for a little while. Was just enjoying being close to you. Usually you have your head on my chest, not the other way around. I like this.”

"We can do things this way more often, if you want."

Geralt mumbled something incoherent and started snoring softly. Jaskier kissed his temple and continued stroking his hair:

"Gods, I love you, you wonderful man."

***

By the time Geralt awoke again, it was at least midday. He was alone and could hear conversation downstairs in the dining room. He got up and dressed as quickly and quietly as possible, and made his way back to the room across the hallway. It was unlocked this time, surprisingly, and the scent trail told him why - the coat had been moved again. It would be… in the dining room?

He made his way down there, following the trail. It was recent, and he figured out why when he entered the room.

Jaskier, Lord Bastian and Hugh were all sitting at the table. The trail he had been following ended abruptly at the baron's chair. Geralt narrowed his eyes, examining the man closely.

_Fine clothes, but worn. Seems to fit with the filthy, greasy pelt draped over his shoulders. Wait. The pelt. The trail. **The coat.**_

The baron still hadn't seen him, but Jaskier had. Geralt glanced pointedly at the baron, then at Jaskier, and mouthed: 

_"He has it."_

Jaskier nodded and patted the baron's hand:

"Could I speak with you in the parlor for just a moment?"

Lord Bastian quirked a brow at him, giving him an unamused look:

"I suppose."

Lord Bastian bid Geralt an icy "good morning" on his way out. Jaskier followed him, smiling apologetically over his shoulder and mouthing back:

_"Bring Hugh. I'll get it."_

Geralt knelt by Hugh's chair so that they were almost eye to eye:

"It's time, Your Highness. I'm going to carry you down to the beach. Jaskier is retrieving what we need to free you from this house and see you off to the sea."

***

"What was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Oh… I don't quite recall. That pelt you wear… could I perhaps look closer at it for a moment?"

Lord Bastian narrowed his eyes for a moment, but reluctantly let Jaskier handle the pelt. Jaskier turned it over in his hands, examining it carefully: he didn't need Geralt's medallion to tell him this emanated magical energy.

"It's so dirty… have you considered having it cleaned?"

Lord Bastian rolled his eyes:

"I hadn't really had that thought, no."

They could both hear the footsteps down the hallway. Only a moment later, Jaskier hefted the coat out into the hallway:

"Catch!"

Cradled in Geralt's arms, Hugh caught the coat, hugging it tightly to his chest:

"My coat! M - my coat!"

"We've got you," Geralt rumbled, pushing the front door open with the back of one shoulder. He remembered the instructions from two days ago - twenty paces forward and a sharp left. He was at ten paces when Lord Bastian's voice rang out:

"Stop! Thief!"

The baron pitched forward and rolled down the stairs as Jaskier threw his full weight past him. He was stunned but uninjured, and clambered to his feet after a moment, groaning. 

Jaskier could feel his glamour slipping - his dragonfly wings and claws shimmered into view as he launched himself from the front porch, eyes going that unnatural, glowing shade of blue as he screamed down at the man:

"How _dare_ you treat a noble and spirited man like Hugh as though he was no more than a trophy? Non-humans are not some kind of sideshow curiosity for you to keep locked up in a cage! Let him _go_!"

Lord Bastian snarled:

"I will never let him go! He is _mine_!"

"He is _nobody's_ but his _own_! Thank the _gods_ I can finally admit my thoughts - I have hated you for _years_. What, did you think I could ever love a spiteful, haughty prick like you? Someone who regards me and mine as 'less than'? _Fuck you_ and _everything_ you stand for!"

He jetted towards the beach trail, but was dragged down by strong arms only a few feet past the trailhead and pinned to the ground:

"I'll make sure your handsome witcher never spares you a second glance again, you scheming, thieving fae bastard."

Jaskier struggled, but couldn't break free. He realized with horror that Lord Bastian had drawn his dagger. It barely had time to register before the blade bit into his skin just above the inner corner of his left eyebrow. 

There was a searing pain - oh gods, _cold iron_ , it _burned_ \- and he was dimly aware of the pain spreading, tracing lines of unbearable fire down the side of his nose, across his cheekbone, down his jaw, up to join at the corner of his nose. 

He writhed again, trying to throw the man's weight off of him. Another line of pain lanced, quick and sharp and scorching, in a path across the outside of his right eyebrow, the bottom of the eye socket and the tip of his nose. Another up across his chin and lips on the same side. He screamed and struggled, finally managing to throw the baron off. 

A little too hard, he realized, but it was a moment too late: Lord Bastian scrambled frantically for a handhold before slipping from the trail and plummeting. He hit the water below with a loud splash, vanishing from view. Only a spreading cloud of crimson resurfaced.

Jaskier spread his wings and flew down the beach path, though his vision was blurred and faded with blood and pain and he began to droop as he neared the bottom:

"Geralt! Is… is Hugh alright?"

"I'm fine," Hugh replied for himself, then, getting an actual look at Jaskier, exclaimed, "oh, gods, Julian, your _face_ …"

"Oh, yeah, this," Jaskier tried to say jokingly, but it was muffled and slurred, and the world spun around him before fading to black.


	5. Epilogue - The Light That You Keep Burning There

Jaskier didn't know how long he drifted in the blissful darkness, only that he eventually became faintly aware of a soft feminine voice, and managed to open his eyes a sliver despite the lingering swelling to see a familiar profile:

"Tr - Triss," he croaked softly, and the sorceress turned to him. Her tone was soft, concerned, as she replied:

"You're lucky that iron didn't do more damage than it did, or you wouldn't have survived. We had to piece you back together a bit at the start of things - the town's healer and I have both been tending to you - but your wounds finally seem to be showing signs of healing. They _will_ leave some scars, unfortunately."

"How… long… was I - "

"Three days, give or take, you've been in and out of consciousness. Geralt's been practically wearing holes in the floorboards out in that hallway with all his pacing. He's worried about you, and upset that he couldn't protect you from this."

"Can I… see him?"

"I'll bring him to you."

Jaskier nodded weakly. He was halfway between sleep and waking when someone took his hand in theirs:

"Geralt? Is that you? I can't open my eyes very well."

"It's me. I'm here. Triss said you were asking for me. I didn't know if that was a good sign or not."

"I think so. I'm… conscious, at least."

"We're back in the house. Katrien had a premonition - she and Roelof arrived just as the other day's events were unfolding. He's taken over the estate, in the absence of a direct, legitimate heir."

"And Hugh?"

"Hugh made it back to the sea safely. He promised to come visit when he's a little stronger again."

"Good."

***

Jaskier slept a lot over the next several days, while the swelling continued to go down. He woke up one morning, perhaps eight days after the full moon, able to finally open his eyes all the way. Geralt was asleep at his bedside, and he smiled fondly down at the slumbering witcher.

A pang of anxiety shot through him as Lord Bastian's last words echoed in his mind:

_I'll make sure your handsome witcher never spares you a second glance again…_

He didn't realize he was tightly gripping the blankets until Geralt shifted abruptly and sat up, placing a hand over his:

"Jaskier, love, what's wrong?"

"I don't… I know you won't be able to love me after this," Jaskier said softly, fighting tears as he gestured vaguely at his face, "I'll be alright if you want to move on without me. I understand."

"Jaskier," Geralt whispered, holding the bard tightly, running a hand through his hair and kissing his forehead, "what would ever make you think I don't love you?"

"M - My face… Lord Bastian said," Jaskier hiccuped through tears, "he said -"

"Fuck what he said. I love you now, more than ever. These scars," Geralt said, tracing his fingertips over them lightly, "show how bravely you stood up to him. You fought someone you were afraid of to protect someone you love. That takes _courage_ , Jaskier. You did so well. I just… wish I could have protected _you_."

"Don't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. It was Lord Bastian's for being such a prick."

Geralt huffed a laugh and kissed Jaskier's forehead again:

"That he was, dear heart. That he fucking was. You, though - you're beautiful inside and out, scars or no scars, and you are _so fucking brave_. Don't ever forget that."

Jaskier took a deep breath and nodded:

"Can… can you help me to the glass? I want to see them."

Geralt nodded and assisted him in standing and crossing the room. Jaskier sat down heavily at the vanity - the man staring back at him from the mirror was barely recognizable, with features grown gaunt from days with no appetite and an array of scars to rival Eskel's, and it had come as a bit of a shock at first. He traced the scars lightly, turning this way and that to see them all clearly - he was pleasantly surprised to discover he had not lost any sensation in the places where they decorated his skin, and now that they had begun to heal in earnest, it was almost becoming ticklish rather than painful to brush across them with a gentle touch. He considered his reflection for another long moment before murmuring:

"Well, it's not _nearly_ as bad as I'd feared, at least. If there weren't so _many_ , I'd _almost_ say it looks dashing."

Geralt kissed the top of his head from behind:

"Knowing you, you'll spin the tale so well that others will see it that way."

Jaskier smiled and leaned his head back against Geralt’s shoulder with a little chuckle:

"Mmm… true. My greatest gift - my talent for storytelling - is still intact."

***  
_11 months later_

The crowd cheered, clamoring for a more in-depth version of the tale Jaskier had just finished singing. It was the last afternoon of the week-long annual Midsummer festival in Lettenhove, drawing near to evening. The scarred bard grinned and bowed low, reassuring them he'd provide it one day:

"Just as soon as I get it written down!"

After his performance, he wandered over to where Geralt was sitting and slipped his arms around the witcher from behind, resting his chin on the man's shoulder and twining their hands - finally, at long last, adorned with proper wedding rings:

"Keeping an eye out, dear heart?"

Geralt hummed noncommittally, turning his head so their noses brushed in an almost-kiss:

"Is your set done? He should be here any time now."

"Oh my. Is the great White Wolf of Rivia… _anxious_?"

"Jaskier," Geralt replied in a slightly warning tone, feeling his face start to heat up - he wouldn't admit it, but the bard was right.

Jaskier perked up suddenly, pointing down at the beach:

"Look! He's here!"

The words had barely left his mouth before he was off like a bolt from a crossbow, sprinting down the dunes, tripping, rolling, landing on his feet and launching himself forward again to embrace Hugh tightly, laughing heartily:

"There you are! We thought you might not show!"

Hugh returned the embrace, grinning into the bard's neck:

"What, and miss the festival entirely? Julian, do you still know me at all?"

They pulled apart as Geralt approached:

"You're looking much healthier than the last time we saw you," he remarked.

Hugh - plump now instead of gaunt, hair rippling in waves just past his shoulders, beamed at them before reaching out to stroke his thumb across Jaskier's left cheek:

"Your scars have been healing well, I see."

"They have! Oh, it's good to see you again, Hugh. Come, sit by one of the fires with us and have a drink. We have so much to catch up on!"

"I'm so sorry I couldn't make it back sooner. Just - you know, obligations."

"I do know. I'm sorry to hear about your father."

"He died bravely and with honor, at least," Hugh pointed out, "but between funeral preparations and taking my place as the new king, things have been beyond hectic."

"I can imagine," Geralt replied.

Jaskier looked slightly nervous to broach the next subject:

"Hugh… you know I still…"

"I love you too, Jules, but what about -"

"Jaskier isn't answerable to me. He loves who he loves, and I'm alright with that. Though, to be perfectly honest, I've become more than a little fond of you myself."

Geralt hadn't quite expected so many words to come out of his own mouth at once, and he clammed up abruptly, looking more than a little surprised and embarrassed. Hugh took one of each of their hands gently, leaning in between them to whisper, mock-conspiratorially:

"You two saved my life. I am eternally grateful and, I must confess, find myself more than a little fond of both of you, too."

Jaskier broke into a roguish grin.

"You, a manatee-king, fond of a witcher! What _would_ your people think, my dear?"

Hugh put an arm around each of their shoulders now.

"They know what he did for me - that I would have died if not for your help. I dare say you're both likely to get a lot of attention from them when they come shore-side."

Jaskier smiled at Geralt:

"So _that's_ what all these seemingly random acts of kindness, all those not-so-sneaky glances and smiles, were about."

They talked until the last of the firewood had burned down to embers, catching up, laughing and crying and drinking and reminiscing. Finally, they lay on the sand and gazed up at the stars, all three curled up together. With luck, there would be plenty of time in the years to come for everything they wanted and needed to do.

For tonight, though, there was nowhere in the world any of them would rather be.

_**The End** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes my first-ever event fic! Thank you to the Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang team for organizing this event.


End file.
